


ASOIAF Drabble and AU Collection

by pandaspots



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Multi, Other, magical north au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-16 11:48:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21507439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandaspots/pseuds/pandaspots
Summary: I'll be putting out some of the drabbles i've written in the past year, they might never see the light of day otherwise aksdjfsldj. some of these are BIG AUs, some of these are slightly self-contained, pls appreciate my less prompt-driven babies owo
Relationships: Jon Snow & Robb Stark, Jon Snow/Aegon VI Targaryen/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	1. Jon/Rhaenys/fAegon; soulmate au

**Author's Note:**

> i got to thinkin the other day (read, around july) ppl like to refer to soulmate marks as 'paintings of the gods' and like. as an artist, the fact that ppl put the marks as set in stone and never-changing always clashed with me???? bc if i know one thing abt art, is that if the painting remains in the hands of the artist after they said 'it's done', it's never gonna be done. so i just. went WILD with the lore, pls appreciate one of the ONLY soulmate aus i've ever written  
> (this one is literally number 4)

Her soulmate mark was odd, Uncle Oberyn had said.

She got hers when her brother was born, the little brother she knew little and less about because the Usurper’s goons had killed him before he had a chance at life. At first, it was two sun-crowned dragons, one red and one orange. They had circled each other oddly, as if making space for one more. Rhaegar took this as a confirmation that he needed a third child.

She was in Sunspear, where she begged to stay a few weeks more (away from her mad grandfather who hated her, she wanted to say but her mother heard it loud and clear anyway), when her mark changed. Twice in the span of as many sennights.

She went to show it to Uncle Doran, and Cousin Arianne, both of them very smart and surely would tell her what happened.

Her mark, now instead of two dragons, was a dragon and a giant turtle, like from the books on Rhoynish stories. There still seemed to be a vacant space between them.

“It seems as if your brother has escaped King’s Landing, or you have a new one, little princess,” Doran said, grief in his eyes.

(She never knew that her playmate, daughter of one of her mother’s maids, was killed in her place. Doran never told her, and it was for the best.)

Rhaenys didn’t know if she grieved or rejoiced at those news.

A week later, there was another addition. She saw it bloom, fiercely red, and at first she thought it was another dragon, that Lady Lya had made it, but almost immediately, it unfurled into a white wolf, playing with the turtle under her orange dragon’s gaze.

Uncle Oberyn entered her rooms, then, and held her by the shoulders before she could show her her new mark.

“Rhaenys, I want you to listen to me. I cannot keep you protected from the Usurper otherwise.” She nodded, fearful. “We’re going to have to play pretend. You need to promise me, you’ll keep playing pretend, even if it’s just us, alright?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Good. From now on, you’ll be my daughter. We’re going to call you Rhaena Sand, like Obara and Nymeria and Tyene.” She nodded again. “You cannot, under any circumstances, call me uncle anymore, you hear? We’ve instructed everyone in the Sandship, to treat you accordingly, otherwise it’d be weird. You heard me, Rhae?” Rhaenys nodded yet again, tears welling in her eyes in fear. “Please, use your big girl words, love.”

“Yes… Father.”

Oberyn smiled at her. She never looked at her soulmark again, and missed the way the sun halo slowly engulfed the dragon within the next months.

Jon was born with his soulmark, which was embarrassing, because it meant he was the youngest, not only of two, but of  _ three _ people. When he was old enough to care about soulmarks, Theon would mock him relentlessly about it.

(Ned Stark never mentioned the harrowing travel to King’s Landing to meet the king after the coronation, where his soulmark still showed a dragon in dornish colors, before it slowly morphed into a sun on the way to Winterfell. He had no idea what happened to the young princess, and he did not want to know, truly.)

“Three people and you’re about to be their son more than lover, I bet,” Theon said, smirking that horrible smirk of his.

Jon ignored him, and wiped the training ground with the ironborn.

The fact he could not go to the Wall grated on him, and sometimes he cursed the damn painting on his forearm. It was a beautiful thing, a white wolf with blood-red eyes playing at the edge of a river with a giant turtle (an Old Man of the River, according to Maester Luwin), under a gold-and-orange sun that was uncrossed (the mark of a Martell bastard, Maester Luwin told him). Sometimes at night, at candlelight, when Jon huddled by the window, it seemed to shimmer prettily, like the carapace of a beetle’s reflection on shifting water, or a gemstone’s reflection upon the wall. He hated it when he remembered it was the reason they wouldn’t take him into the Night’s Watch. He was  _ already _ as good as married.

One time, he swore, when his candle melted away faster than he could light another, he saw his mark shift under moonlight. It was gone when he lighted the candle again, so Jon settled for admiring his soulmark at night, when the loneliness became too much to bear.

Aegon was entirely too puzzled by his soulmark. He always asked his father-- no,  _ Lord Connington _ , why it looked the way it did.

“According to what I remember, it used to be a dragon, until Varys brought you away from the Red Keep. The sun also used to be a dragon, for Rhaenys, and the wolf…” Jon’s expression always soured then, as he looked into the white wolf’s eyes. “They call the Starks wolves. Maybe it’s one of the Usurper’s dogs.”

He sat and wondered, looking westward, his mark shimmering in the moonlight under the faint light of the torches above deck in the Shy Maid. Ysilla always had a cake and some watered summer wine for him at those moments.

And a story.

“They say,” she started, “they say that when someone’s mark shimmers like that, it’s because the sun vowed to keep that person’s secrets, and the moon’s trying to reveal them. Under the moon’s gaze, all secrets come apart, because the Moon wants to know. The Moon is nosy, you see,” she said, and poked his nose. He was getting too old for that, but it was still a comfort. “It’s trying to show you the real shape of your mark.”

“Yes, but we are under the Moon’s gaze, and yet, it’s still shimmering, and it still looks the same.” He frowned, poking at the image on his forearm.

“I met a red priest once. An odd man, for sure.” Ysilla shifted her weight and looked into the Rhoyne. “He said, that originally, the prayer was ‘for the night is dark and full of secrets the Moon unearths’. And that’s why people use braziers and brands to light up the night with the fire of the Sun. Because the Sun is the brazier of R’hllor, and surely an earthly brazier has enough power to ward the Moon’s nosiness away.”

In the early hours of the morning, before dawn, Aegon stared at his forearm. He carefully balanced himself on a chair, with the help of a candle, and put his forearm in the shy beam of moonlight that entered through the shaft window of his cabin. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he blew out the candle.

Later, with Haldon patching up the cut on his forehead and listening to a lecture from Septa Lemore, he would claim his attempt at seeing if Ysilla’s story was true went awry before it even could start. He knew it was a lie, but then, they were all lying to him, yet again.

He knew the Old Man of the river had to be him. He was sailing the Rhoyne after all. So the Martell sun had to be Rhaenys, and the wolf in inverted Stark colors had to be Lyanna Stark’s son by Prince Rhaegar. He fell off the chair when he saw what took their places under the pure moonlight.

A red dragon with a sun halo in place of the sun, a red dragon with a white wolfskin in place of the direwolf, and in the place of the old man, stood a black dragon outlined in blood red, holding a black sword.

He took comfort in knowing the dragons were not fighting. He would not be shunned by his soulmates at the least.


	2. Jon Snow/Aegon VI/Rhaenys Targaryen-Martell; magical north AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little magical au: targs and starks all have magic, and targaryen magc stems from fire and blood, and the starks' magic comes from the children of the florest, or as they called themselves, the singers.

He’s known his siblings, his  _ real _ siblings, for his entire life.

“We’re hiding,” Rhaenys would tell him, when he was little, smiling with her pointy teeth. “We’re not supposed to come here either, but you’re our brother.”

“Baby brother,” Aegon would agree, nodding. “Aems is  _ our _ baby brother,” he’d add, with a glance to Robb’s bed.

_ Aems _ . They always called him that.  _ Short for Aemon, like our great-uncle and the Dragonknight _ , Rhae said, smiling.  _ My Dragonknight _ , Aegon would nod, possessive. Aegon was always very territorial with him, leaving him always tingling with magic static.

“How do I get to you?” He asked, whispering into his furs, as Aegon huddled closer to him, Rhaenys on his back.

“You can’t, not yet,” Rhaenys told him, embracing them both. He saw as Robb turned in his sleep. “You’re not old enough, you’re not strong enough in your blood,” she explained.

“Is it because I sometimes think this is a dream?” he whispered, tears welling up.

“Yes,” Aegon answered, just as low and just as sadly, and Jon could feel his heart clenching on itself, as if afraid to break.

_ Isn’t it enough to wish with all my heart this was real? _ he wondered.

His siblings  _ (cousins) _ did one type of magic. Lady Stark, being from the south, was horrified; ‘god fearing people don’t defy the order of things,’ she would rage at first. It spoke to the isolation she lived in those first years before Jon and Robb showed any kind of magical affinity, like most people north of the Neck.

“Most Northerners are witches, Catelyn,” his father  _ (uncle) _ said then, smiling as Robb and Jon ran to him showing off the little wheat sprouts they sang from the Earth. “Brandon and I weren’t, but Lya and Ben were, and when Father couldn’t, they were responsible for starting the Sowing Festival. And now,” he kneeled in front of them, addressing  _ them _ now, “now, you’re both responsible for bringing good luck and a bountiful harvest, okay? You’ll both need to sing the harvest to sprout.”

It wasn’t a heavy weight on them; all they were required to do was sing one of Old Nan’s songs about sleeping seeds awakening and growing forth with their lifeblood. It was fun, and the fact they were truly in spring, after an infancy midwinter, was enough to keep them happy and singing.

One time, as they ran forth to take their place at the Wintertown Sowing Festival, in the middle of the sown fields, Jon scraped his knee.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine,” he told a miller’s wife, hands dirty of earth and his own blood, “it doesn’t really hurt.”

“You’ll need to wash up, though, little Jon,” she said, offering a bit of water in a tin cup. “It’ll get infected elsewise.”

They were in the middle of the fields. Jon thought nothing of it as he washed the blood off his hands and knees.

That day, when he and Robb sung, not just the ceremonial fields, but all the fields in the North, sprouted so big the little wheat stalks sprung leaves.

He told his blood family about how strong he and Robb were getting, and forgot to mention his skinned knee. As he was already under his furs, and his knee had fully healed by the next morning, he never thought to mention how he washed his blood away in a ceremonial field. Vaguely, Jon was aware that his father's family practiced blood magic, that it was in their line, but since the Singing manifested in him, he never thought to question about it.

If anyone noticed it, they never spoke of it when the next sowing wasn’t as bountiful as the previous.

**Author's Note:**

> pls leave kudos and comments they are a balm to a writer's soul  
> hmu @kotturstjarna on tumblr if u wanna talk (or just plain deal with large infodumps on things that u might not even be interested in akjdsfdg)


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